TWO IN THE MOON
from Mortal World (1995)
by Deborah Pope

I saw it, too, you know,
that full, high winter
moon you said you meant
to tell me of, stood
by the cold, dark glass
at two in the morning,
after you had gone,
watching it wash the porch
in light so clear

and tangible it made
the rest of the world
seem blank and indistinct,
this house a blur, its trees
mere brushwork,
and only itself seem true,
even the porch chairs
held their thin arms
out to it, pure, fulfilled.

How real and unreal it was,
as we were through that
whole, long sliding dream,
touching and untouched,
believing we were new,
moving in the silvered wind,
without map, without references,
all we knew reversed,
as that light, at once
covering and cruel.